


can I be close to you?

by kakwettt



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anne is clueless, Billy Andrews is a piece of actual shit but y’all already knew that, F/M, Gilbert Blythe is Whipped, Mary is Alive bc I said so, Miss Stacy is a G, Panic Attacks, Period-Typical Racism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Yeah Anne’s childhood was kinda fucked... let’s talk about it, ahaha... unless?, also a little bit of hurt/comfort, as a treat;), everybody needs a hug, fuck racism me and all my homies hate racism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:01:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24585010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakwettt/pseuds/kakwettt
Summary: When an incident at school gives Gilbert Blythe an inkling into the bright redhead’s dark past, he finds out that not all dragons can be slain by the sword.Sometimes, all you need are willing ears and a hand to hold.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe & Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe & Sebastian "Bash" Lacroix, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley, Sebastian ''Bash'' Lacroix & Anne Shirley, Sebastian “Bash” Lacroix & Mary Lacroix
Comments: 39
Kudos: 162





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *originally posted around 06/19, but I am an idiot perfectionist writer who is never satisfied and have kind of been plagued by writer’s block for months now. I’m getting back into the swing of things so here’s my (hopefully) finished product

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***Graphic Depictions of Violence (Not Abuse) and PTSD-Induced Panic Attacks*** Plz proceed at your own risk!!!

It was definitely too early for this. 

Gilbert Blythe peered over the medical book he now deeply regretted borrowing. His overworked brain had been swimming all morning with an infinite number of Latin terms and the Greek roots of various diseases he didn’t even know existed. 

Quickly, Gilbert snapped the heavy book shut. No sense in studying if he couldn’t even understand what he was supposed to be learning. That was a battle for another day. 

The hustle and bustle of students milling around the schoolyard was an easy distraction, their laughter and mindless chatter filling the air with a sort of energetic spirit that you couldn’t help but become a part of. Well-worn trousers and swishing skirts swam in and out of sight, their movement becoming a lively background for wandering thoughts.

Gentle shoots of green had already begun to sprout through the slowly thawing earth, timidly peeking out of the icy March mud. The long-barren trees, stripped naked by the bitter winter, were showing their first signs of life. A few branches were adorned with green buds, the promise of lush summer shade in its infancy.  
Gilbert inhaled as a cool breeze swept Avonlea, sweet with the scent of spring on the horizon.

A flash of a familiar red caught the corner of his eye, making him snap his head so fast a sharp pain pinched the nape of his neck.  
Rubbing the sore spot, he winced, but his eyes did not, could not waver. 

Bright red braids swung against her brown sweater, making them stand out like rubies in the earth. A few wispy strands brushed her porcelain cheeks, flushed from exercise and adorned with a bright, carefree smile. Next to her was the prim and poised Diana Barry, strolling arm in arm with the infamous Anne with an e. 

•••

Gilbert never quite knew where he stood in Anne’s eyes. 

Most of the time, they were Anne and Gilbert, the top students—and rivals—of Avonlea. Whether arguing over trivial things like column topics, how to spell “advantageous”, the weather… If they could dream it, then they had probably argued over it. Or, they would take their rivalry to the blackboard, firing off answers to questions faster than Miss Stacy could ask them. 

There were other times though, only small moments here and there, when their passionate gazes held on just a millisecond too long, when Gilbert could’ve sworn that there was something else besides annoyance or anger.  
During those few, fleeting moments, Anne and Gilbert were something more.

Their conversation after the wedding would replay in his head, every time finding he remembered a new detail of her: her pink lips, chapped and swollen from the cold, curled into a small smile; her freckles dancing across her cheeks, tinged red from the bitter winter air, her eyes and cheeks and hair on fire as she talked about becoming a teacher, just like Miss Stacy. 

But no matter whatever new thing he noticed from that wintery day, he would never forget how her stony grey eyes bore into his as she answered his half-teasing question with a soft cheeky retort.  
“Remains to be seen…”

•••

Gilbert followed the girls with his eyes as they made their way to the brook. If he strained his ears above the chatter of students, he could make out her voice. It was much easier than he cared to admit. He listened with what was probably a dopey smile, Anne’s sweet tone twinged with delight, as if her simple conversations were poems in themselves.

“ -though I know my brain to be in good working order, I’m afraid my appearance leaves much to be desired.”

Sighing discontentedly, Anne continued her self deprecating monologue, leaning into Diana’s arm as she did so

“Of course I wouldn’t expect you to know, Diana —being exquisite as you are— but courting adventure may well be the best option I have!”

“Don’t say such things, Anne! They aren’t true!”  
Diana reprimanded, her tone defensive. Quickly softening, she gave a small, dimpled smile as she stopped in her tracks and took her beloved bosom friend’s hand.  
“You are beautiful, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert! One of a kind! You hold yourself with an air few people have, to say nothing of your wit. Really! Anyone would be more than lucky to have you.” 

Gilbert ignored the sudden blush spreading down his neck; he swore he saw Anne blink away tears.

“Oh, Diana… you magnificent creature!” Anne cried. Wiping her eyes, she replied in a choked whisper, “Thank you.”

Taking a deep shuddering breath, Anne regained composure and gave a small, yet meaningful smile.

“I’m sorry to burden you with all my worries. I just can’t ever see myself being a dutiful wife to any old cad with dull eyes and no imagination. Or—” Suddenly trailing off, a dark cloud seemed to fall over her face, twisting in a small grimace as if she were remembering something painful. Anne nervously bit her lip, adding in a more serious tone.  
“An old, boring cad—or worse.”

Suddenly, the dark cloud over Anne disappeared as quickly as it had come. Anne’s brilliant smile returned at an almost unsettling speed. 

It almost gave Gilbert vertigo at how quickly Anne’s mood shifted, distress marring her features only for it to melt away without a trace. Gilbert decided to pass it off as another of Anne’s eccentricities, but something inside him wasn’t so sure.

“Anywho, I don’t think I mind to only be courting Adventure for now. He’s ever much more exciting than any storybook prince— and best of all, he can never break my heart.”

Apparently used to her friend’s moods, Diana politely ignored Anne’s sudden shift in character, choosing instead to play along.

Leaning into Anne’s shoulder in mock despair, Diana puffed out her chest, strutting like a pompous peacock as she cleverly deepened her voice with faux arrogance.

“Oh, but surely the dashing Prince Wisteria is the exception to your unfavorable opinion of men! If it is not so, I shall spend my days in solitude, cursing the name of Adventure for taking you away from me, my dearest Princess Cordelia!”  
With an exaggerated flourish, Diana clumsily bowed before her friend, clutching her heart as if mortally wounded.

Gilbert openly laughed, probably seeming crazy to anyone who happened to be standing around. He had to admit, Diana made a very convincing prince. What could he say? Anne’s imagination was contagious.

Giggling, Anne gave a wobbly curtsy, acting along in their playful tragedy.

“Oh, don’t be so sorrowful, my beautiful Prince! Your beauty will assure that you should never be lonely, for you shall have your fair share of maidens clamoring for your hand!”

Grabbing Diana’s hand, Anne dramatically swooped in front of her friend as if she were proposing the most melodramatic matrimony in Avonlea history.

“As for me, dear Prince, it is I who shall be condemned to live my life in solitude, watching from afar as you cart away your fair-haired and noble bride, and I am but a distant memory of your youth!”

No longer capable of holding a straight face, Diana burst into a fit of unladylike guffaws, collapsing over an equally hysterical Anne. Both girls held each other as they shook with uncontrolled laughter, tears of mirth glistening in their eyes.

As the last of the laughter died on her lips, Anne’s clear eyes narrowed. She scanned the faces around them until finding Gilbert’s looking straight at her, his face still stuck in a dopey grin. Quickly looking away, Gilbert felt his face burn. 

She had caught him staring. Again.

Fumbling with his book, Gilbert quickly feigned interest in whatever a cerebellum was. Hands shaking, he scanned the page, desperately shoving words into his brain to distract him from her piercing presence.

Though his eyes were nervously glued to the page, Gilbert felt her eyes probing into his skull, as if she could hear the onslaught of thoughts swimming in his head.

“You know what, Diana?”

Gilbert risked a small glance upward.

“We shouldn’t worry ourselves with such thoughts because it’ll be many years before we’re old enough to marry. And besides—”

Gilbert thought that if he stared any longer, his eyes would burn.  
Anne did not look away.

“—Boys our age are all fools, anyways.”

And with that, she briskly walked off with a visibly confused Diana in tow, bobbing and weaving until they were once again lost in the tumult of the schoolhouse crowd.

Gilbert was no poet, and he did not consider himself as such. Textbook learning and cold, calculated formulas were more his speed. There was one correct, infallible answer to every question: no if's, and’s, or but’s, just the way he liked things. But the thing was, nothing in his life so far had been as clear and concrete as the Pythagorean Theorem.

No matter how much he studied the text, or scanned over the works of great poets and authors, he could never understand it. Gilbert had always thought that stories and ideas should be straightforward, no ruffles or feathers. He could appreciate a grandiose poem or novel, but he just didn’t get it. Nothing in his life made him want to use fancified language and abstract thought to express himself. His life was already confusing as it was.

But then he had been, quite literally, whacked in the face with heavenly inspiration. Gilbert still didn’t understand the reason for extravagant ballads and overly complex love poems, but now, for the first time in his young life, he wanted to.

If he allowed himself the thought, if he dared let his rusty imagination take hold, the hidden Whitman inside of him thought Anne had looked absolutely captivating standing among the new green grass. Gilbert couldn’t help but notice how splendid her braids looked in the sunshine, how they seemed to glimmer and cascade down her back like liquid gold. Her bright, trickling laughter sang as clear as the brook, soothing and refreshing to his ears.  
As the world began to blossom after the frigid winter, Anne was as warm and golden as any summer’s day—

“Hey, Orphan!”

Gilbert flinched as a loud, obnoxious voice boomed out across the already noisy schoolyard. It looked like Gilbert hadn’t been the only one to notice Anne’s conversation. While Gilbert had only admired, Billy Andrews only aimed to cause trouble. 

The orphan in question paid him no mind, straightening herself and lifting her chin in indignation, but kept her back turned as if nothing was happening.

“Hey, Orphan! I’m talking to you!”

Billy and his goons snickered as they dropped the ball they were tossing and drew closer towards where the girls stood. Almost instinctively, Gilbert stood up. He tensed his legs, ready to run to Anne’s aid if need be—and Diana’s, too, of course.

“Hey! Mutt! You answer when I speak to you!”

Anne whipped around to face him, her eyes dancing with barely controlled anger. Her voice remained level and dismissive, almost as one would address a small child.

“Billy Andrews, I’m not going to waste my time talking to you for one more second! I have more important things to do than bicker with obstinate fools! Good-bye!”

Linking arms with a beaming Diana, Anne confidently continued on her way to the schoolhouse door. One of Billy’s lackeys blocked her path.

“Excuse me, you’re in our wa-”

Anne never got to finish her sentence before her eyes widened in terror, her already pale skin turned deathly sallow. She stared, paralyzed, as Billy drew near, gripping something in his meaty hand. Gilbert’s blood turned cold.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I’d like you all to meet Mr. Mouse!” Billy announced in a loud, mocking voice, that smirk never leaving his cruel lips. In his hand, a dead mouse dangled by its fleshy tail, swinging wildly every which way as Billy inched closer and closer. 

By the time Anne snapped out of it, it was too late. She was trapped against a wall of bodies, Billy’s goons at the ready in case she tried to escape. Gilbert was close enough that he could see the desperate tears forming in her eyes.

Anne held onto Diana for dear life and shrieked in terror, a sound that drove rusty daggers into Gilbert’s chest. She collapsed on the muddy ground, dragging Diana down with her.

“See here, orphan,” Billy snarled, not in the least bit fazed by Anne’s frantic screaming. “Mr. Mouse was a noisy little thing, a lousy pest that Just. Would. Not. Shut. Up. Now, doesn’t that remind you of someone?”

He put emphasis on every word, swinging the dead mouse around like a macabre pendulum. Diana looked as if she might throw up any second. Anne was openly sobbing.

Gilbert had seen enough.

“Leave them alone, Billy!”

Gilbert shoved his way into the circle and planted himself in between the girls and their attacker, doing his best to shield them from the swinging mouse.

Billy pretended he wasn’t there.

“C’mon, Carrots. Don’t be a rude little orphan. Say hi to Mr. Mouse.”

Faster than Gilbert could register, Billy tossed the mouse over Gilbert’s shoulder. As if time had slowed down, Gilbert could only watch as the dead rodent gracefully sailed right over him, landing perfectly in a heap onto the terrified redhead’s apron.

Billy dashed away laughing. His circle of goons broke off and ran after him, their ugly cackling following them.

Anne let out an ear-piercing scream, shrieking as if she were on fire. She desperately crawled backwards over the marshy ground as the mouse’s dead claws stayed hooked to her apron, refusing to let go. Diana clambered over to her, trying in vain to calm her friend. Gilbert all but sprinted to her side.

Anne was hysterical, her wet eyes wild with terror as she frantically clawed at Gilbert’s sleeve. Her breath came in violent, gulping shudders, her small chest heaving as if she had just been held underwater.

“Oh my god- Oh god, Diana- Gilbert, please- please get it off me! Get it off!”

Without even thinking about propriety, or bothering to ask permission like a proper gentleman, Gilbert grabbed a fistful of Anne’s dress and quickly yanked off the dead animal. The poor mouse’s rigid body was tossed somewhere in the yard, disappearing into the mud and grass.

For a moment, no one spoke.  
Frozen in place, Gilbert stared into Anne’s wide, terrified eyes, every fiber of his being hurting for her. Her tears were agony, her terrified whimpers driving hot pokers into his heart. Her hair was a mess, crimson braids half undone and falling all over her face. Despite her painfully digging her nails into his forearm, Gilbert never wanted her to let go.

“Anne, are you alright?”

Diana kneeled to Anne’s right, and gingerly laid a hand on her shoulder. Anne remained frozen, her gaze terrified but distant.

“Anne?” No response. Only more tears. 

Gilbert didn’t dare move for fear she would let go.

“Hey…” he gently half-whispered. “It’s okay, Anne. The mouse is gone.”

And then he blew it.

Gilbert lightly laid a hand on her left shoulder, meant to reassure her. Billy was gone, so was the mouse. Everything was alright. 

He had no sooner placed a fingertip on her when Anne snapped back to reality, reeling in terror from his touch.

“Get away from me!” Anne screamed, ripping herself away from Diana and staring at Gilbert as if he was the dead mouse. Her clear grey eyes were a kaleidoscope of panic, tears of fear spilling over her white, freckled cheeks.

His throat twisted into a painful knot at the sight of Anne, the girl who had stolen his heart at first sight, desperately crawling away in fear of him. It was unbearable to even think that he might ever do something to make Anne scared of him.

“Anne… I-I’m sorry, I-”

Gilbert never had the chance to explain, apologize, or do anything before all hell broke loose. Anne began sobbing harder, the trickle of tears turning into a cascade that dripped off her nose and chin. 

“I-I can’t-” *gasp* “-Diana...” *gasp* “-Please! I can’t-” *gasp* “...I-I can’t breathe!”

Her chest began heaving violently, taking desperate gulping breaths in between sobs. It seemed no matter how much air she inhaled, it was not enough. Anne’s pale fingers dug into the wet grass where she sat, choking and gasping with lungs that would not let her breathe.

Gilbert urgently met Diana’s eye in question, but she looked just as afraid and helpless as he did. 

“Gilbert! What’s wrong?! What’s happening?!”, Diana cried, tears forming in her eyes as she knelt close to Anne’s convulsing form.

“I-I don’t know...I-” Gilbert’s voice rose in panic.  
He didn’t know what was happening to Anne. He had never seen the like. It was like she was possessed, choking as if her throat was being squeezed by invisible hands. Gilbert realized his hands were shaking, and he quickly steadied them on the ground. He couldn’t panic, not now. Not when Anne needed him.

Allowing himself a deep breath, Gilbert sprang into action, surprising even himself with the urgency and authority in his voice.

“Diana, go get Miss Stacy! Now!”

Nodding through teary but determined eyes, Diana bolted from Anne’s side and sprinted towards the schoolhouse. 

Crouching down beside Anne, Gilbert wondered if all doctors sounded much more sure than they actually were. He certainly didn’t feel anywhere near in control, but swallowed his fear and replaced it with determined energy. Anne was going to be okay; he would make sure of it.

Anne regarded him with frenzied eyes, glazed over and wild like a cornered animal, clambering for a way out that was not there. She had brought her muddy knees to her chest, clinging to them like driftwood at sea. Gilbert approached with his hands up in surrender.

“Hey, Anne… It’s me. Gilbert. You’re gonna be okay, Anne. Just breathe, okay? Like this.”

Gilbert did his best to demonstrate him calmly inhaling and exhaling, though in reality, he felt anything but calm. Pushing his own gnawing fear down, he repeated his deep breaths, encouraging Anne to do the same.

Through her teary eyes, Gilbert could see recognition.  
Though it took her a few tries, Anne followed his instruction to the best of her ability, choking on her own sobs, but ultimately managing a few shaky breaths to where she began to breathe of her own accord.

“There you go, Anne. That's good. Just breathe. In. And out. In. Out. In. Out. That’s it.”

A sickeningly obnoxious laugh broke Gilbert out of his medical role, forcing him to break his concentration. Hearing the raucous laughter undid whatever hold Anne had on her breathing. Giving a strangled cry, Anne’s breath left in consecutively shorter gasps, broken only by renewed sobs.

Gilbert’s entire body shook with a rage he had never thought he was capable of. As if possessed by the very spirit of vengeance, Gilbert shot up from the ground and stomped towards the sound of the ugly, cruel snickering that could only have been Billy Andrews.

Shoving aside one of the Paul’s, Billy barely had time to turn before Gilbert cocked his arm and swung with all his might, landing a hard blow on the back of Billy’s head. A sickening thud and Billy was violently knocked to the ground, groaning in pain. Gilbert thought he heard someone faintly cry out, but he didn’t care. The blood boiling in his ears made him oblivious to everyone else.  
He wanted to hurt Billy Andrews. He wanted to make him regret ever even thinking about picking on Anne.

•••

Gilbert had always considered himself a level headed person. He certainly wasn’t one to swing first ask questions later. But, something about the way he had watched Anne suffer all this time, hearing how everyone had been quick to judge and scorn her. He’d heard the snickers and taunts whispered not-so-discreetly behind her back, almost as if she was nothing more than a piece of furniture, inanimate and oblivious, to be scuffed and scratched and sat on until eventually scrapped. All this time, he had done nothing, said nothing, afraid of causing a scene. The meek, cowardly Gilbert Blythe watched from afar as Anne was mocked and belittled for being singular, spectacular. Well, no more.  
This time, Gilbert Blythe would fight back.

•••

With the help of his wide-eyed friends, Billy staggered to his feet, spitting a dangerous amount of blood and looking downright murderous. To Gilbert’s surprise and slight disgust, Billy flashed him a disturbing, bloody grin. The steady crimson trickle ran down his nose and chin, which was starting to resemble an overly ripe tomato. His beady black eyes gleamed like a rabid dog, giddy with the promise of unbridled violence, hungry for the excuse to tear him apart.

“You wanna fight, Blythe?” A few drops rolled down his thick neck, disappearing into his crisp, white shirt collar. His mother would probably be furious. Billy didn’t seem to care.

“Okay. Alright, bud. Let’s fight.”

Throwing off his scarf and jacket, Billy charged like a bull and tackled Gilbert into the ground, gasping at the feeling of the cold mud beneath him oozing into his shirt.  
Gilbert felt what he thought was his chest collapsing as Billy’s full weight slammed into him. Struggling to catch his breath, Gilbert tried to throw him off, kicking and throwing wild punches, but it was no use. Billy had him pinned and they both knew it. 

Grabbing Gilbert by the lapels of his coat, Billy seemed to cruelly savor the moment, his now-purple tomato nose dripping like a leaky faucet onto Gilbert’s face.

“Bastard! You think you’re better than me? Huh? Think I won’t fight back? Think about this next time you go defending that orphan bitch!”

And with that, he grabbed ahold of Gilbert’s thick curls and lifted his head off the ground. For a few seconds, Billy held him up to the enthusiastic onlookers as they gasped and jeered, proudly showing him off like the severed head of Medusa. 

SLAM

Gilbert tasted dirt and blood as Billy shoved his head into the mud. The pain did not stop there.  
Blow after painful blow, Billy’s deranged grin did not waver, mercilessly pummeling Gilbert’s body with his meaty hands. The sickening thud of fists on human flesh echoed in his ears. His head, his jaw, his ribs--everything burned. The screams of delighted students goading them on melted into a painful, muted ringing. He thought he heard a voice cry out his name in all the chaos, but he couldn't be sure if it was his own wishful thinking or the hallucination of his thoroughly thrashed brain. 

Billy sneered as his fists brought Gilbert closer to the edge of unconsciousness. The metallic stench of blood filled his sore nostrils, coating his mouth with the unsettlingly familiar taste.

As the black splotches dancing around his vision began to close in, he heard drowned out yelling and a change in the atmosphere.  
The electricity of a schoolyard fight left as suddenly as it had begun. 

Suddenly, the punches stopped coming and the lumbering pressure was lifted off his chest. Gilbert took a deep, rattling breath, partly because he needed it, partly because he was checking to see if his lungs hadn’t been crushed by Billy’s fat legs. 

Wincing in pain, Gilbert slowly sat up to try and regain his composure, despite the vicious pounding of his head.  
He forced opened his swollen eyes to thank his good samaritan, but immediately wished he hadn’t. 

Staring into his bloody, bruised face was the fuming gaze of Miss Stacy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Stacy is a g that’s all

“In all my years of teaching, I have never been so utterly disappointed in my pupils! I know your parents did not teach you such manners, and I most certainly did not, so it's a wonder to me why my students would have thought to stoop to such acts of unmitigated violence!”

Gilbert Blythe held a chunk of ice wrapped in his scarf to his throbbing jaw, standing in the schoolroom before a furious, red-faced Miss Stacy. Anne and Diana were there too, as well as Billy, who tightly held a bloody handkerchief to his nose, which, Gilbert noticed, was probably broken. That made him smile.

“—Gilbert Blythe, are you listening to me?”

Shaken out of his thoughts, Gilbert could only stare like the dunce he was as Miss Stacy grew even more red with rage.

“Mr. Blythe”, her voice cold with barely controlled anger. “I would suggest that if you plan to continue your studies in my classroom, you will mind yourself when I am speaking to you.”

Gilbert felt his neck redden with guilt. He hadn’t meant to be impertinent. Well, at least any more than he had already been.

“I’m truly sorry, Miss Stacy. I promise, this won’t happen again-”

“Thank you-”

“—long as Billy learns to keep his mouth shut.”  
Gilbert’s mouth betrayed him by spewing out the half-baked threats that had been cooking in his head since he had been more or less dragged back inside by his furious teacher.

Billy took an incensed step towards him, probably to finish the mess that they had started, but, of all people, Anne stepped in and put her hand on Billy’s chest.

Gilbert’s insides turned to ice and at the same time felt something akin to an inferno raging inside of him. Something about the sight of Anne’s small, delicate hand on Billy’s hulking, brutish body made him sick. He didn’t know whether to cry, vomit, or start swinging. He was leaning more towards option #3.

“Both of you, _stop_.”

Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. Her eyes stared straight ahead, refusing, or possibly just incapable of looking at him. Gilbert was sure he could almost hear her unspoken question.

_Why, Gilbert? Why did you do it?_

He had to physically hold back the words from his busted lips, should he blurt it out and ruin everything once more.

_I did it for you._

“I’m sorry. I’m so, terribly, sorry, Miss Stacy. This is all my fault.” Gilbert had never heard her sound so broken. “If I hadn’t—if I’d just—”

Miss Stacy put a hand out, stopping Anne in her verbal tracks.

“Anne, you do not decide who’s at fault and who’s not. I am the teacher and that is my job.”

For a moment, Miss Stacy’s hard expression softened.

“None of this is your fault, Anne. You are not responsible for these boy’s actions, but rather they are responsible for their own.”

Her scowl returned as she turned to them once again.

“And if my two students, who are about to graduate, mind you, are evidently not mature enough to control their actions, then I will have to teach them some responsibility!”

Like a judge delivering a sober verdict, Miss Stacy rose, stoic as a statue, and addressed the accused.

“Both of you boys are excused from classes for as long as you need to recover. But, I will be visiting your homes and informing them of your conduct to make it clear that this childish behaviour will not be tolerated in my classroom. Not now, not ever. Is that understood?”

The chorus of half-mumbled ‘yes ma’ams’ seemed to satisfy Miss Stacy.

“Very well. Girls, you may make your way back home. Classes are cancelled for today. Are you well enough now to walk home, Anne?”

Lightly blushing, Anne only nodded without emotion. Her glassy eyes still seemed far away.  
Without another word, Anne turned and shuffled out the door, faithful Diana right behind.

At the sight of her defeated frame, all of Gilbert’s righteous anger seeped out of him, a steady faucet of shame that leaked worse than Billy’s nose.

Somehow, he had managed to make everything worse, both for him and the girl he had been trying to defend. He had once promised to slay her dragons, but now he realized that, in Anne’s eyes, he had become as much a horrid, fire-breathing brute as that wretched Billy Andrews.

Gilbert didn’t mind much the scolding from Miss Stacy, no matter how much trouble he was probably in right now. All he could think about was Anne; her dejected face staring straight ahead; her tight, tear-stained voice, so uncharacteristically small, so un-Anne-like.

That one horrible image haunted his mind’s eye, the face that replayed like a broken record in his brain was her, the screams that rang in his ears, her body shaking and heaving as she looked at him in horror. Her red hair spilling over her shoulders like fresh blood, the wild panic of a cornered animal. That damned question that was almost palpable in the small schoolhouse room.

 _Why_?

Gilbert would do anything to make it stop. He would gladly get pounded into the dirt one-hundred times over if it made Anne happy, if it meant she would never shed another tear. He would endure a thousand scoldings and expulsions if he never had to see her agonized face stained with tears and terror again.  
Was this madness? If so, he didn’t really care.

“Gilbert, I’d like you to stay for a minute. I need to discuss something alone with you. Billy, you’re excused.”

Dreading what was to come, Gilbert stood where he was, turning slowly as humanly possible so as to prolong his inevitable expulsion. Roughly knocking him aside with his shoulder, Billy Andrews stormed out of the empty classroom. The look he gave Gilbert was beyond angry; it was downright murderous.   
After their first fight all those winters ago, Billy had at least tolerated him, never outright showing his disdain in front of others. Gilbert knew that, this time, there would be no tolerance.  
Billy was out for blood.

Realizing he was, very rudely, making Miss Stacy wait, Gilbert approached her desk in three long strides, determined to take his expulsion with whatever pride he had left.

Gilbert could practically see his future disintegrating before his very eyes.

He would be banished from school for all time, his dreams of being a doctor dashed to smithereens. No more Miss Stacy, no more spelling bees, and no more Anne. He’d have to work his land with Bash for the rest of his life, doomed to be a poor uneducated farmer just like everyone else before him. He’d be stuck, repeating a monotone life, wasting away from this provinciality with nothing but failed dreams to show for his meaningless life.

“Gilbert Blythe, please look me in the eyes while I’m talking to you. I will not remind you again.”

His head snapped back up to face Miss Stacy, her face now curiously blank. Slowly settling back down onto her chair, Miss Stacy suddenly looked a lot less threatening than she had a minute before. In fact, she looked downright defeated, as if she had been the one given a thorough scolding.

“Gilbert, I asked you to stay because I was wondering if you would answer a few questions for me.”

Gilbert could only nod. He had absolutely no idea where this was going.

Miss Stacy sighed slowly, resting her elbows on her desk as she massaged her temples.

“Look… you’re a good kid, Gilbert. You have excellent grades, a willingness to learn that, I’m sad to say, is seldom matched by your peers. And, at least up to this point, excellent conduct. If I am not mistaken, it was you who initiated the fight, was it not?”

Gilbert felt his ears go red with shame as he slowly nodded.

“What I’m wondering, Gilbert, is what on earth would possess one of my best students to lash out in such a way? From what I’ve seen, it is most unlike you.”

Gilbert was dumbstruck. He was supposed to have been expelled in disgrace, screamed at and scolded for his vicious display of temper. And yet, here Miss Stacy was, somewhat complimenting him and allowing him to explain himself further. Billy must have knocked his head harder than he thought.

“Miss Stacy, I-Well…You-Thank you. I mean- I’m sorry for everything, I truly am, but- thank you, for letting me defend myself.”

Perhaps despite herself, Miss Stacy smiled at his stuttering, broken face. Anne had been right in her poetic descriptions of their beloved teacher. Miss Stacy was, in every possible way, a kindred spirit.

“It is my firm belief that there are always two sides to every story. Now, I’ve heard Billy’s narrative, but, as has been the case often enough, his actions often precipitate incidents such as these. I’m assuming this is no exception.”

Gilbert chuckled as well as his aching jaw would allow him.

“You’d assume correctly, Miss.”

“Just to be clear, I am in no way excusing your actions.” Miss Stacy quickly added with furrowed brows. “You are still very much in trouble. But-”  
A small smile tugged on the corners of her mouth. “-I’m sure you’re well aware of all that.”

Gilbert didn’t know what else to do but nod again.

“My late husband was the same.”

Gilbert’s eyebrows were practically to the roof at this point, but the mention of her dead husband certainly came as a surprise.

“There was one time in college... I was being, well, harassed, by some fellow who insisted on walking me home and couldn’t take no for an answer.” Despite the harrowing introduction to the story, Miss Stacy smiled fondly at the memory. “Though I tried my best to shake him off, he was rather, erm— insistent, pardon my saying so.”

“I’m sorry”, Gilbert replied, rather stupidly.

“It’s all in the past now.” Miss Stacy waved it off. “Well, the sorry one was him in the end. You see, my Jonah had been waiting for me by the women’s dorms and had seen the whole thing. I don’t believe the poor fellow ever saw it coming!” Miss Stacy laughed.  
“Though Jonah, ever the gentleman, left him conscious enough for me to get a few good kicks to that cad’s backside!”

“He deserved it.” Gilbert let himself grin at the thought of a young, tenacious Miss Stacy kicking that sorry bastard to the curb. It reminded him of someone else.

“Don’t get me wrong. Though I am a big proponent of women being more than capable of fighting their own battles,” she added with a smile, “It’s always nice to have a friend to help slay the dragon.”

Miss Stacy must have remembered that she wasn’t reminiscing with a friend but rather reprimanding a student. Quickly snapping back into her professional persona, Miss Stacy straightened as she finished off her lecture.

“In short, Gilbert,” she sighed, “You’re a bright young man with an even brighter future ahead of you. I’d hate to see you throw it all away.”

“Next time,” she added with a sly wink, “Pick your battles more carefully, alright?”

Gilbert was getting tired of nodding, but it was all he could do as his mouth was rendered incapable of producing words from the shock of what had just transpired and his throbbing jaw.

“Very well, Gilbert. You’re dismissed.” Gesturing to the door, Miss Stacy resumed whatever work she had been doing on the many papers that lay haphazardly thrown about her desk. And with that, Gilbert gathered his books and frazzled wits and shuffled back outside into the frigid morning air.

  
What Gilbert didn’t see was the small, sad smile that stayed on his teacher’s face, her eyes a bit distant as she welcomed the flow of memories of another bright-eyed young man, global and bookish, determined to take on the world...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert’s thoughts walking home

He was halfway home before what Miss Stacy had said to him fully set in.

Despite the ever painful lump on his jaw, Gilbert grimaced as he was once again flooded with the nauseating feeling of shame. 

Had he been right to take on Billy like that? 

Reliving the events that had led up to the fight, Gilbert could see how rashly he had acted, letting his feelings take hold of him like that. He had always been a level-headed person, someone who would rather battle with brains than with brawn. He knew, despite his somewhat noble intentions, he had lowered himself to Billy’s barbaric level and it unsettled him to the core. He had been impulsive, unthinking, acting on pure passion. He shuddered at the thought.

“No”, he swore to himself. He would never let himself get carried away to that degree. He would first cut off his hand before ever daring to raise it against somebody he loved.

The thought brought him back to Anne, as most of his thoughts often did.

There was just something about the way Anne had looked at him, so helpless and hurt. There was no façade of indifference or pride to hide her vulnerability, her fear.

The thought that that brute had caused her harm for his own sadistic entertainment and would most likely not lose a wink, it was all too much for Gilbert.

But still, the way he had reacted wasn’t the kind of person he ever wanted to be. It wasn’t the person that his father had taught him to be, either. His years in the army had turned his stomach against violence. John Blythe had seen what anger and hate could do. It destroyed lives, it hurt the innocent, and yes, it killed.

Gilbert could mentally feel his father’s disapproval resonating within him, see his ashen face sinking even more in disappointment at him. The thought hurt him more than any bruise on his body.

“ _Now, son._ ” he would say. “ _You know this isn’t the way. Believe you me, I know what violence does to people. It rots you from the inside out until you don’t know anything else. That isn’t the person you ever want to be.”_

Gilbert heard his own voice, still squeaky and awkward from puberty. This was before the illness came to claim his father—before the doctors and sleepless nights and the coughing, that hideous, bloody coughing. Before he had been forced to grow up.

_“What was I supposed to do, Dad? Let myself get beat up?”_

One of the few times he had dared raise his voice at his father. He chuckled bitterly at the memory. How stupid he had been back then. How stupid and juvenile and naïve. That Gilbert Blythe didn’t know what grief was, didn’t appreciate what he had…

_“I just don’t want to be weak anymore. I want to be like you.”_

John Blythe shook his head, quiet and still. Gilbert could still remember his childish eyes welling with tears as his father had gripped his shoulder, voice dripping with disappointment.

 _“I don’t want you to be like me, Gilbert. I want you to be better_.”

Furiously wiping his eyes, he snapped out of his daze to realize he was already home, the stone chimney peeking out beyond the treeline, grey smoke rising in wisps before dispersing into the blue sky above. Sniffling away the last of the emotion, Gilbert walked on, the occasional squawk of random birds and the crunching of leaves beneath his feet his only companions on that long last stretch of road.

Removing his mud-caked boots at the front door, Gilbert hesitated, his hand on the knob. Staring through the glass-paned windows of his front door, Gilbert could see the scene inside. 

Mary was at the stove, stirring a pot of delicious who-knows-what, a soundly sleeping bundle tied across her back. Bash was just barely finished with breakfast, downing the last of his coffee before tiptoeing across the kitchen floor and enveloping his wife and child in a sudden embrace. He saw their soundless laughter as they took each other in, admiring the person before them: husband and wife, mother and father, equals, kindred spirits.

Gilbert couldn’t help but smile. 

“I’m sorry, Dad. I’ll do better, I promise.”

And with that, he turned the knob and stepped inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super short chapter. I haven’t had a lot of time (or inspiration) to write as of late, but don’t worry. Good stuff to come soon;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *bangs fists on table* MARY IS GILBERT’S NEW MOM I DONT MAKE THE RULES
> 
> But yeah they’re a big happy family and I love them your honor

“Gilbert Blythe, what on God’s green earth were you thinking, taking on that Andrews boy?” 

A furious and determined Mary Lacroix attended to the thoroughly thrashed white boy sitting at her kitchen table. His pained winces only seemed to incentivize her further as she dabbed a wet cloth to his swollen, bleeding lip. Though Gilbert said nothing, he couldn't help but give a small grin.

“Sorry to worry you, Mary.” 

A small hiss of pain escaped his lips as Mary doubled her efforts on the dried blood crusting the corners of his lips. Unfortunately, Mary wasn’t holding back while scrubbing at his injuries, and that cloth wasn’t getting any softer.

“I should hope you’re sorry so you’ll never try that foolishness again! Look at you! You’re a stone’s throw from college and still getting into petty schoolhouse fights! Why, I oughta grab a switch from outside-”

“That boy don’t need no switchin’, my angel!” Bash’s gleeful voice shouted from the sink as he scrubbed the dishes. “Sounds like that Andrews boy saved you the trouble, eh? Got himself the thrashing of his life from the look of it.”

“You should see the other guy.” Gilbert chuckled.

Mary all but slapped him with the wet cloth, indifferent to his yelp of pain.

“Don’t you go bragging about your despicable behaviour, Mister! Fighting ain’t nothing to be proud of.” 

Turning her attention to her grinning husband, Mary shook the bloody washcloth in his direction.

“And don’t you go defending him, Sebastian!” Mary scolded. “A grown boy like him needs to learn some sense!”

Bash put the last dish away before he plopped himself beside them at the kitchen table, his hands up in mock surrender.

“I was only saying, my love, he seems to have learned his lesson pretty well. No better teacher than experience, I say. Besides...”, he muttered coyishly as he wrapped his arms around his wife. 

“Us men just can’t help it when a beautiful woman is involved, can we Blythe?” To further drive home the point, Bash twirled Mary around and dipped her before pulling her into a passionate kiss.

For the first time ever, Gilbert was glad for Bash and Mary’s incessant displays of affection around him since it served to distract them from the furious blush that seeped up from his cheeks and crawled down into his collar. Had it always been so hot in the kitchen?

Gently pulling away, Mary didn’t miss a beat in continuing her scolding, though thankfully, Bash’s kiss seemed to have taken most of a punch out of them.

“Sebastian! Don’t do that in front of Gilbert, it’s uncouth.” But even she couldn’t hide her grin. “Besides, it still doesn’t excuse his behavior, girl or no. Any man worth his salt knows that violence leads to nothing but more violence.”

“Ah, he’s only mad ‘cause he lost.” Bash was a master at pushing their buttons and he knew it. “If he’d won, why, our Anne-girl would’ve been beggin’ for a kiss from Avolea’s next heavyweight champion!”

“It’s not like that!” Gilbert shouted. 

The room went awkwardly silent as the echoes of Gilbert’s outburst died, the couple staring at Gilbert with equal parts surprise and concern.

“I-I’m sorry, just— I didn’t mean to-” Face falling slack, Gilbert felt the suckerpunch of regret hit him harder than Billy ever could. 

“It doesn’t matter, anyways.” he muttered dismally. “I’ve made everything worse. Both for me and Anne.”

Gilbert didn’t notice the sudden shift in mood, or how Bash and Mary’s look of concern deepened as his eyes got cloudy and his bruised knuckles turned white with effort as they gripped the rough wooden table. 

“I’ve never seen anything like it. I didn’t know what was wrong or-or what to do... She was fine one moment, then the next— a-and I couldn’t even help her, I just— God, I’m so stupid...”

Gilbert’s rant was cut short by the lump in his throat, rising until it choked out what was left of his voice. He didn’t mean to get so emotional and he resented the fact that he felt this way. 

Men weren’t supposed to cry, especially not over girls. Everything he had been taught and raised in told him that men were stoic, tough, unfeeling. To cry was to show vulnerability, weakness; a trait unacceptable in a man. 

But that initial embarrassment gave way to shame; deep, burning shame that seared its way down his throat and felt heavy in the pit of his stomach. He had no right nor reason to cry, none at all. But, he couldn’t stop himself as one hot tear rolled down his cheek, followed by another and another until a cascade of shame washed over his face, dripping down onto his shaking hands. The salt of his tears burned the cuts on his cheeks, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“Hey…” Gilbert felt soft hands gently take hold of his drooping shoulders. Taking his face in her hands, she lifted his quivering chin so as to force him look into her deep, loving eyes. 

“It’s alright, Gilbert. It’s alright.”

Gilbert didn’t bother to resist as she quietly slid her arms around him, holding his pounding head to her chest. Mary’s steady heart beat and the sound of his own blood throbbing in his ears undid whatever hold he had left on his emotions. Before he knew it, his shoulders were shaking in the arms of the strongest, most caring woman he knew.

“I’m sure our Anne will come around soon enough. Tougher than nails, that girl. I’m sure you did everything you could.”

Gilbert had never really known what it was like to be held, to be comforted. Sure, there was Mrs. Kincannon, and the ladies from church who would bring over baked goods from time to time, but condolences and useless pity were not the same. No matter how close those people got, they weren’t family. They each had their own families to go to when they left his little depressing hull of a house; they all had husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, people who loved, people who cared.  
All Gilbert had was a cold house, faded memories, and that horrible hacking cough to keep him company.

Mary wasn’t his mother. Rationally, he knew that. The judgemental or downright hateful stares of other Avonlea residents when they walked down the street sure never let him forget it. But he’d be damned if her cool hands didn’t feel good against his flushed face. The faint scent of lavender and rye soap clung onto her shirt, a smell Gilbert now associated with Bash and Mary, with home. 

Gilbert held on for dear life like the scared little boy he had been many years ago. He pretended that these were the arms that held him when his father’s cough had worsened, the soft voice that had whispered lullabies on the many stormy nights he’d spend alone, the shoulder he had sobbed into the night his father died. For just a moment, Gilbert let himself believe he’d always had arms like these to run into.

For just a moment, Gilbert let himself be held.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry the uploads have been super inconsistent as of late and there’s a reason for that. I’m currently going thru a lot of really shitty home life stuff and I’ve just been jumping from one depressive episode to the next. I’m gonna try to get it together the next couple of weeks so I can go back to updating regularly:)  
> So yeah, Thank you all sm for reading! Kudos and comments really do mean the world to me.

**Author's Note:**

> Pls validate me I’m an attention seeking whore (constructive criticisms are welcomed)


End file.
